I've read it over and over and over again. In the morning on the way to work. Driving home from an appointment with my doctor. When I'm lonely and wishing Grant was there driving instead of me.
And it speaks to my heart and mind every time.
I first read Jeremiah 17:7-8 during the season of Lent. It was in a devotional I was using and the words were just what I needed that day. I tore the page out (don't worry, the devotional was just for 2009!) and posted it on the dashboard in my car to remind me of God's promises in that passage.
And now I realize the words weren't just what I needed that day...but words that I need every day.
Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord
Ah, that word 'trust.' Such a difficult thing for us as humans, whether it be trust in one other or trust in the One above. Why is that? Are we afraid that to trust another means to become vulnerable, to risk our well-being (and fragile emotions!) to someone besides ourselves? Yet despite what it seems, to surrender that control to the Lord, to humbly admit we can't do it on our own, brings such peace--and blessings, as the verse says.
Whose hope is the Lord
Hope is one of my favourite words. The true meaning of it is so deep, so rich. Hope brings meaning and purpose to life. To hope means to hold on to the belief that good things are coming, that God has a good plan even if it's not like our plan.
He is like the tree planted besides the waters, that stretches out its roots to the stream
When I choose to trust in the Lord and let Him be my hope, I am stretching out my roots to His waters of grace, quenching my thirsty soul.
It fears not the heat when it comes, its leaves stay green
Trust and hope dispel fear. When we place our trust in God, not in a certain outcome, we know that no matter what happens, He is still God our Father with a good plan for His children. When the heat of difficulties come, we can withstand the fire and come out with new growth.
In the year of drought it shows no distress, but still bears fruit.
In times of waiting or even in times when I see nothing coming of my efforts to become who I want to be, I can wait patiently. I can continue to serve the Lord the best I am able, trusting He is working in my life quietly, and that someday I will see the fruits of this season.
-Jeremiah 17:7-8
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day Thoughts
My friend Chantel wrote an excellent post on Memorial Day that you can read at www.ylcf.org. It sums up so many of my heartthoughts this weekend.
We had a special outdoor Memorial Day service after church on Sunday. I stood there alone with a heart full of emotions and eyes full of tears. I thought of my man working long, tiring days in Iraq. I thought of the soldiers from wars past as one of the men read a letter written by a Civil War soldier to his wife a week before he died. And as I watched our beautiful flag in the breeze and heard the mournful sound of Taps, I thought of the families of the five soldiers who were killed last month in Mosul.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to see my dad standing beside me, with tears in his own eyes. I knew his thoughts were close to my own. We stood together silently. Just knowing he was beside me at that moment, supporting both me and Grant, meant the world to me.
I am oh-so-proud of my soldier. And of all the men and women fighting with him to protect our country. And of those who have given everything they had-- their very lives--for our nation. I am indebted to their service. I am thankful for their sacrifice.
Because I love this country with all my heart.
May God bless America and bring us back to following Him as a nation.
We had a special outdoor Memorial Day service after church on Sunday. I stood there alone with a heart full of emotions and eyes full of tears. I thought of my man working long, tiring days in Iraq. I thought of the soldiers from wars past as one of the men read a letter written by a Civil War soldier to his wife a week before he died. And as I watched our beautiful flag in the breeze and heard the mournful sound of Taps, I thought of the families of the five soldiers who were killed last month in Mosul.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to see my dad standing beside me, with tears in his own eyes. I knew his thoughts were close to my own. We stood together silently. Just knowing he was beside me at that moment, supporting both me and Grant, meant the world to me.
I am oh-so-proud of my soldier. And of all the men and women fighting with him to protect our country. And of those who have given everything they had-- their very lives--for our nation. I am indebted to their service. I am thankful for their sacrifice.
Because I love this country with all my heart.
May God bless America and bring us back to following Him as a nation.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Please pray
Five U.S. soldiers killed in Mosul, Iraq truck bombing.
Mosul. That's where Grant is stationed.
Yesterday evening I called Grant's mom to see how she and the family were doing. I was concerned about the Texas wildfires near them. She thought I was calling about the Mosul headlines and asked if I had heard.
I hadn't. And I fell apart.
I hadn't heard from Grant for two days and now all the 'what ifs' came flooding in. Grant's mom comforted me and encouraged me to trust in the Lord. She was my Titus 2 woman, a beautiful example of strength and faith.
But in the darkness of the night, fear will threaten faith. I tried Grant's cell phone twice, listening to it ring over and over and over again. I emailed him, asking him just to let me know he was okay. I looked at the handwritten letter on the table I had just gotten in the mail that morning. I looked at the pictures of us on my desk. I cried. And I prayed.
Then in the middle of the night I heard the beep of an incoming text message on my phone-- "I'm ok." They had been on blackout with no phones or email due to the tragedy. My nightmare was over.
Yet for the families of those other five soldiers, the nightmare continues. In the same breath that I praise God and thank Him that my Grant is safe, I pray for them. While the fear is lifted from my heart, the ache remains because there are those who will not get an "I'm ok" text. Who do not get one more chance to say "I love you." Who never wanted their soldier to come home in this way.
On the eve of our beloved Lord's rising, it's so hard to think of the deaths of these heroes and the pain of their families. I don't understand it. I know that there is meaning in suffering. That we serve a God who brings healing and victory over death. And a God who knows what it is like to lose a Son. Yet some things seem unanswerable.
Be with their families, Lord.
Mosul. That's where Grant is stationed.
Yesterday evening I called Grant's mom to see how she and the family were doing. I was concerned about the Texas wildfires near them. She thought I was calling about the Mosul headlines and asked if I had heard.
I hadn't. And I fell apart.
I hadn't heard from Grant for two days and now all the 'what ifs' came flooding in. Grant's mom comforted me and encouraged me to trust in the Lord. She was my Titus 2 woman, a beautiful example of strength and faith.
But in the darkness of the night, fear will threaten faith. I tried Grant's cell phone twice, listening to it ring over and over and over again. I emailed him, asking him just to let me know he was okay. I looked at the handwritten letter on the table I had just gotten in the mail that morning. I looked at the pictures of us on my desk. I cried. And I prayed.
Then in the middle of the night I heard the beep of an incoming text message on my phone-- "I'm ok." They had been on blackout with no phones or email due to the tragedy. My nightmare was over.
Yet for the families of those other five soldiers, the nightmare continues. In the same breath that I praise God and thank Him that my Grant is safe, I pray for them. While the fear is lifted from my heart, the ache remains because there are those who will not get an "I'm ok" text. Who do not get one more chance to say "I love you." Who never wanted their soldier to come home in this way.
On the eve of our beloved Lord's rising, it's so hard to think of the deaths of these heroes and the pain of their families. I don't understand it. I know that there is meaning in suffering. That we serve a God who brings healing and victory over death. And a God who knows what it is like to lose a Son. Yet some things seem unanswerable.
Be with their families, Lord.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
He understands
Last night I watched The Passion of the Christ with the teens at church. Even though I've seen it several times before, it was still able to touch me in a fresh and personal way. A way that reminded me of Jesus' humanity and what that means for me.
Seeing the character of Jesus in The Passion is unlike so many other portrayals of Jesus because, well, He just seems so...human. There is no aura of light surrounding him. No bright rays from heaven shining down upon him. No throne from which He rules.
Instead He looks just like us. He smiles like we do. He sweats like we do. He bleeds like we do. He even laughs like we do.
He laughs with Mary in a scene from the past. And then He looks at her from beneath the cross with blood and sorrow in His eyes. He shares a meal with His friends. And then He watches them run away in the hour of darkness.
This is a God who knows what joy is. What heartache feels like. How laughter lifts us up. How pain weighs us down.
I realize not only does He understand this because He is an all-knowing God, but He understands because He became man. Because He took on flesh like my flesh, with a heart like my heart. He worked. He cried. He laughed. He knows what it is like to be human.
And that comforts me.
Seeing the character of Jesus in The Passion is unlike so many other portrayals of Jesus because, well, He just seems so...human. There is no aura of light surrounding him. No bright rays from heaven shining down upon him. No throne from which He rules.
Instead He looks just like us. He smiles like we do. He sweats like we do. He bleeds like we do. He even laughs like we do.
He laughs with Mary in a scene from the past. And then He looks at her from beneath the cross with blood and sorrow in His eyes. He shares a meal with His friends. And then He watches them run away in the hour of darkness.
This is a God who knows what joy is. What heartache feels like. How laughter lifts us up. How pain weighs us down.
I realize not only does He understand this because He is an all-knowing God, but He understands because He became man. Because He took on flesh like my flesh, with a heart like my heart. He worked. He cried. He laughed. He knows what it is like to be human.
And that comforts me.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The God of Hope
Are those cobwebs I see in the corner of the page? I know it's been awhile since I've posted...over a month...and I'm feeling out of shape when it comes to blogging...but I had some thoughts to share, so here I am.
I was reading my CCD book the other day preparing a lesson for the kids when I came across this quote from Pope Benedict XVI in his encyclical "God Is Love."
He says, "there are times when the burden of need and our own limitations might tempt us to become discouraged. But precisely then we are helped by the knowledge that in the end we are only instruments in the Lord's hands. This knowledge frees us from...thinking that we alone are personally responsible for building a better world. In all humility we will do what we can, and in all humility we will entrust the rest to the Lord."
There's a lot to digest there, but I love it. These days, it is so easy to become discouraged with the world's problems and burdens. Grant was telling me about the recent news on 'custom babies' and on euthanasia for terminal patients. I read in the newspaper about President Obama's recent increase in funding for embryonic stem cell research. Two high school kids in the area recented committed suicide. My coworkers' husbands are losing their jobs in the plummeting economy. Immorality. Sadness. Despair. In the midst of these, what can I do?
Simply what the pope said: Do what we can and entrust the rest to the Lord.
That's comforting. The weight of these burdens is eased by the fact that I can't solve the world's issues on my own. Only God can. I simply need to be available to Him, ready to be used in whatever way He leads. That takes humility. But it brings joy and hope and peace.
Joy, because I can find beauty and a light heart in today's blessings knowing He is in control of the future. Hope, because I serve a good God with a perfect plan for His children. And peace, because I have no need for worry when my heart is full of joy and hope.
Such were my thoughts earlier today...and tonight, when I read my daily devotional, I smiled at the Lord's timing as I read this verse:
"May the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing, so that we may abound in hope by the power of the holy Spirit." -Romans 15:13
I was reading my CCD book the other day preparing a lesson for the kids when I came across this quote from Pope Benedict XVI in his encyclical "God Is Love."
He says, "there are times when the burden of need and our own limitations might tempt us to become discouraged. But precisely then we are helped by the knowledge that in the end we are only instruments in the Lord's hands. This knowledge frees us from...thinking that we alone are personally responsible for building a better world. In all humility we will do what we can, and in all humility we will entrust the rest to the Lord."
There's a lot to digest there, but I love it. These days, it is so easy to become discouraged with the world's problems and burdens. Grant was telling me about the recent news on 'custom babies' and on euthanasia for terminal patients. I read in the newspaper about President Obama's recent increase in funding for embryonic stem cell research. Two high school kids in the area recented committed suicide. My coworkers' husbands are losing their jobs in the plummeting economy. Immorality. Sadness. Despair. In the midst of these, what can I do?
Simply what the pope said: Do what we can and entrust the rest to the Lord.
That's comforting. The weight of these burdens is eased by the fact that I can't solve the world's issues on my own. Only God can. I simply need to be available to Him, ready to be used in whatever way He leads. That takes humility. But it brings joy and hope and peace.
Joy, because I can find beauty and a light heart in today's blessings knowing He is in control of the future. Hope, because I serve a good God with a perfect plan for His children. And peace, because I have no need for worry when my heart is full of joy and hope.
Such were my thoughts earlier today...and tonight, when I read my daily devotional, I smiled at the Lord's timing as I read this verse:
"May the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing, so that we may abound in hope by the power of the holy Spirit." -Romans 15:13
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